


Vortex

by moonside



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aranea being a fierce bitch, BDSM, Biting, Childbirth, F/M, Face-Sitting, Female Ejaculation, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Noct/Prompto/Luna OT3, Pegging, S&M, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Fisting, boot fetish, kink meme fill, strap ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9806369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonside/pseuds/moonside
Summary: Words were power, but there were three times in his life, that Ignis Scientia could recall, where he’d been rendered utterly speechless.The first time had been Noct's fault. The other two times Ignis had been utterly blindsided in such a way were thanks to none other than Aranea Highwind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> k this is a kink meme request gone horribly wrong. someone wanted iggy/aranea accidental pregnancy and then 10,000 words happened. pretty sure i just took a checklist of all the fucking awful kinky shit people wanted with this pairing and just busted it all out in one story. cuz let's be honest, aranea's a motherfuckin' kinky magnificent dom and iggy needed that.
> 
> this is a happy go lucky, everyone lives AU. i kinda didn't feel like plot, we're all here for the porn, so i ignored the whole implications of noct not making it into the crystal. assume stupid ardyn is out there somewhere, eating his floppy hat and biding his time so he can torment noct's grandchildren.
> 
> that said, i'd apologize for this mess but i've had awful writer's block for a full month so i'm just glad i came up with something???? so for the 3 people who read this because it's not gay enough and too much het porn, ENJOY. why am i like this, wtf is my life, etc etc.

Words were power, but there were three times in his life, that Ignis Scientia could recall, where he’d been rendered utterly speechless.

 

\---

 

The first had been Noct’s fault, before they’d left Insomnia. Ignis had been in the area, had decided to stop by with an impromptu dinner. And so, he had unlocked Noct’s door, swung it open, and been greeted with a very explicit view of the prince, sitting on his couch, head tipped back over the edge, legs spread and pants around his ankles. And, between his legs, a very enthusiastic Prompto, naked as the day he was born, working his mouth over him.

 

Ignis had opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, took a step back, and closed the door. Whether or not Noctis noticed his little intrusion was debatable, because he didn’t come chasing after Ignis (who honestly couldn’t blame him for that), and they didn’t speak of it. Ignis, for his part, had gone home, sat down, and mulled over _what_ he would do about his prince.

 

Ultimately, he decided that annoying as Prompto could be, he was good for Noctis. He brought out a lighter, happier side of the prince that had been so scarce since Noct’s injury as a child. It drew him out of his shell. Ignis could reconcile with the logical part of his brain that was telling him Noctis was his charge, his duty, he was marrying Luna—because as long as he cleaned up after them, kept the two idiots from making public fools of themselves, this was mostly okay.

 

\----

 

The other two times Ignis had been utterly blindsided in such a way were thanks to none other than Aranea Highwind.

 

\---

 

There was something about the woman that was particularly captivating, and Ignis couldn’t quite place what it was. It drove him mad, because his mind was his strength, and none of the pieces seemed to slide into place as they usually did when the dragoon was around.

 

They were in the Vesperpool. Noctis was all up in arms, agitated and tense and bemoaning the fact that Ardyn was there, _again._ Prompto wasn’t much better, because the Chancellor had a strange, creepy fixation with the blonde boy, and the two of them together were feeding off of each other’s nervous energy. Gladio was uptight, rigid, doing his best to keep their charges calm, but it just gave Ignis a massive fucking headache.

 

They had to wait until nightfall to enter the ruins, apparently, and Ignis could feel the beginning of a migraine pulsing, throbbing, in the base of his skull. They’d set up an impromptu camp, and Noctis was whining that he wanted to be fishing, but no sooner had he packed his tackle box did he change his mind, opting instead to throw himself down in his flimsy little camp chair and whip out his phone. Prompto was rambling about Ardyn’s _creepy eyes_ undressing him, and Ignis wanted to smack them both into next week.

 

His gloved hands trembled, ever so faintly, as Noctis yelled over, “Iggy I’m _hungry,_ make me that thing I like, you know the one, with the chicken—but don’t sneak any onions in there this time,” and Ignis had to forcibly bite his lip because he rarely snapped, _never_ snapped, but astrals help him, he was close to losing it.

 

Gladio rested a hand on Ignis’s shoulder, “ignore the princess. Go for a walk and calm down, Iggy. I’ll watch the children,” and _bless_ Gladio, Ignis thought, because as obtuse as Gladiolus could be sometimes, they’d been constant companions for so long, and they just knew what each other needed. Right now, Ignis desperately needed a moment alone to compose, to get the constantly whiny, nasal tones of _King_ Noctis out of his fucking head.

 

Ignis slipped away, could faintly, in the distance, hear Noct grumbling about “what do you mean it’s _Cup Noodles_ for dinner?!” and then there was blessed silence, nothing except the steady lap of water against the swampy shore, the chirping of bugs and the faint rustling of whatever docile creatures were nearby.

 

How long had it been since he’d been utterly _alone?_ Too long. Ignis was, by nature, an introvert. His mind was constantly at work, never resting, and sometimes he just needed silence. Pure, utter quiet, that wasn’t punctuated by Noct’s whining, by Prompto’s incessant chirping on about whatever idle subject came to mind, by Gladio grumping at the two of them to shut the hell up. Ignis hated to waste time, to let a single moment fly by wasted, but for once, he allowed himself the luxury, fell into a near meditative state as he perched on the edge of a crumbled wall of the old ruins.

 

“Gil for your thought?”

 

It hadn’t been more than fifteen minutes or so, by Ignis’s count, when the silence was interrupted by a familiar voice. There was none of the usual haughtiness to it—more a quiet, sly curiosity. Aranea Highwind was nearby. She reminded Ignis of a large, feral cat, edging near, her eyes locked on his, but with a wariness that Ignis recognized as a necessity, a way of life for a female soldier. And gracious, was she fierce.

 

“Merely catching a moment’s silence,” Ignis replied, civil and neutral. He tipped his head, regarding the dragoon as she meandered nearer. Her hips had a sway to them that was, if Ignis read correctly, slightly more suggestive than usual.

 

“The brats giving mommy a headache?” Aranea laughed, and it was loud, but beautiful, stunningly so. Ignis was taken aback, because she was so strong and willful, but there was something about her that was absolutely fascinating. Her voice was musical to his ears, and it was the most ridiculous cliché in the whole world.

 

“Something along those lines, yes,” and Ignis let his lips quirk into the faintest trace of a smile. “That obvious?” he rubbed a hand over his forehead. The dull throbbing had indeed blossomed into a headache, but the silence had helped, the tension had faded away and it was something bearable, manageable.

 

Aranea approached, closer, until she was leaning against the edge of the wall Ignis sat upon. She was still wearing some of her armor, but she’d lost the helm and the pauldrons. Ignis noted that her hair was tied back in a braid, long bangs hanging down to frame her face. It almost—almost—made her look just a bit softer around the edges. Ignis wasn’t deceived for a single moment though. He was well aware she could rip him to shreds in an instant, if she so desired.

 

“What’s your business with the idiot with the hat?” Aranea didn’t hesitate to cut to the chase. She lifted one long, boot-clad leg, crossed it over the other, stiletto heel tapping against the wall as she leaned. “He’s bad news.”

 

“Chancellor Izunia?” Ignis sighed. Of course, here she was, a mercenary for hire working for the Empire, and she’d caught him alone. He was the brains of the operation, of course, and she was here to pick his mind. She was a smart one, merciless and daring. He admired her greatly, more than he cared to admit, so he answered honestly.

 

“I haven’t a clue what he’s thinking. Or what he wants with Noctis,” Ignis had faint ideas, of course, but they were little more than theories, fleeting thoughts that he couldn’t quite formulate. “He is quite dangerous,” he agreed, and there was an edge to his voice that Ignis didn’t bother to hide.

 

“I’m supposed to take your boy-king into the ruins,” Aranea sighed, as if it were the most irritating task in the entire world, utterly beneath her, and Ignis was inclined to agree. Still, she lowered her voice, glanced up at Ignis, and he noticed her eyes were silver, and… surprisingly open, though still guarded. There was, on some very strange level, a trust forming between them. Two kindred spirits, perhaps, minds that were far too sharp for their own good.

 

“Noct is capable enough in battle,” Ignis replied quietly. “Even if he runs his mouth too much.”

 

“Perhaps. We’ll see,” Aranea laughed again, quiet and satisfied. Ignis half expected her to turn and leave, but she stayed, leaning back further and bringing an arm to rest against the edge of the wall.

 

“So, ‘Iggy’ they call you, right?”

 

“An affectionate, if not misguided nickname,” Ignis affirmed.

 

“Iggy then. You wanna get out of here and go fuck?”

 

And just like that, for the second time in his life, Ignis Scientia had no idea what the hell to say. Aranea Highwind not only managed to absolutely stun him into pure silence, but she also nearly caused him to fall backwards off the fucking wall he was sitting on.

 

There were a few stunned moments of utterly embarrassing silence as Ignis damn near flailed on the wall, composure totally destroyed, guard absolutely down in an instant. “Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me,” the dragoon laughed again, and Ignis _definitely_ noticed the seductive tones this time. She tipped her head back, and her eyes were like quicksilver, he got lost in their depths, could see them burn, molten, into his amber eyes. “You don’t quite look at me like the other men do. I know I’m fucking gorgeous but you seem like you might be _fun,”_ the words came out a purr, and she had a very obvious challenge written all over her face. “Why the hell not? We have time to kill and I guarantee it’ll be the best fuck of your life.”

 

“I… you’re the _enemy,_ ” Ignis pointed out, and the words fell between them heavy and obvious, like he’d stated the dumbest, most dull-witted thing that came to mind. Which really, he had, because it was more than a little appealing. It had been so long since Ignis had found the time for simple _pleasure,_ and even longer since someone had legitimately satisfied him.

 

Aranea sighed, “so you are gay then? Figured, since you dote on High Royal Gayness so much.”

 

“I—no,” Ignis sighed, pressed a palm to his face, and took a moment to regain his composure, “truly, I don’t prefer one gender over the other. But we are on opposite sides, regardless of our inner beliefs.” And honestly, getting the words out was an honest to god struggle.

 

“Do you think sides really matter, where this world is heading?” Aranea cocked her head, and she fixed Ignis with such an intense look, posed the question in such a way, that it nearly left his head spinning. And really, Ignis knew she had a point. The days were growing shorter, the nights longer. Noctis was a boy king, not nearly ready to lead his country in a war against the empire. Daemons were running rampant. And if they ever actually reached Lady Lunafreya, it would be a damn near miracle. Their war wasn’t with each other, it was with something greater still.

 

“You make a logical point,” Ignis agreed.

 

Ignis prided himself in his ability to make rational decisions. He rarely, if ever, made impulse decisions. He thought with his brain, used logic and analytical skills, always. And his first priority was always the royal family, always Noctis, always doing his duty as royal advisor.

 

For once in his life, Ignis said fuck it, and made a decision purely for himself. He slid down from that wall, took Aranea Highwind’s hand, and went on a wild fucking ride, both literally and metaphorically.

 

\---

 

They started meeting up, here and there, whenever they could. Sometimes, Aranea would send him a text, telling Ignis where she would be. Most times, Ignis would shoot back a ‘sorry, can’t make it.’ Rarely, their plans would match up somewhat, and they’d actually make it work. Even rarer still, Ignis would come up with some reason to meet up, would convince Noct of a logical reason that they should head to whatever haven was nearby the dragoon’s location. Then he’d slip off, and enjoy himself for a few short hours.

 

They needed to leave for Altissia soon. The old ship that had belonged to King Regis was being repaired by Cid and Cindy, and in the meantime, they were chasing daemons and wild beasts all across Duscae. Noctis was on a mission to visit the tombs of his ancestors and gain their powers, and tracking them down was a hell of a job in itself, even for Ignis, versed in all the ancient lore and knowledgeable than most.

 

Noctis had wanted to check out one of the empire bases when Ignis got the text that Aranea was in Lestellum. She had some fucking guts, showing herself there, but that was Aranea, through and through. She’d all but left the empire at that point, anyway, was going to go rogue and work for her own causes, whatever those would be. She talked about it a little bit, but when the two of them were together, very little actual talking got done, besides the very _interesting_ pillow talk.

 

“Noct, we haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in ages,” Ignis said casually. They’d pulled over to get a good look at the base, but it seemed too heavily guarded to infiltrate, not without causing a huge fucking mess, and an even bigger headache. Ignis had suggested regrouping and returning another time and Noct, thankfully, had seen the logic in that and agreed for once. They were making their way back to the Regalia, parked just off the road some distance away. “We could make it to Lestellum before nightfall. We’ve enough budgeted from the hunts to afford a stay at the Levelle.”

 

“Really?!” Prompto was nearly bounding on his heels, and Ignis recognized _that_ specific, needy, nearly desperate quality to his voice. It’d been a while since any of them had been alone, and Ignis was quite certain that Prompto and Noctis had been continuing on their _whatever_ it was. He could hardly blame them; given the circumstances, especially, Ignis was not one to be a hypocrite. Even when they made it to Altissia, it was unlikely the royal wedding would still occur, and if it did, well, Noctis seemed ready enough to accept that fate.

 

“We could probably manage two rooms,” Ignis added, throwing a careful glance in Noct’s direction. Whatever eagerness Prompto had been outright unable to hide was mirrored in Noct’s eyes as he at least made an attempt to hide his own feelings. Ignis could see right through him, of course.

 

“Sounds good,” and he tried to sound casual. Gladio just looked pleased at the idea of a night away from the two bumbling idiots, muttered something about ‘quality adult time’ because really, they all knew Ignis would spend at least a few hours perusing the marketplace and replenishing their cooking ingredients. Or so they thought.

 

He responded to Aranea, a quick text: ‘Be there tonight.’

 

She responded almost instantly, and it nearly made Ignis smile, damnit. The text was nothing but an address.

 

When they arrived in Lestellum, a few hours later, Ignis excused himself. It was easy enough. Noctis and Prompto had holed themselves up in their room, and Gladio decided he wanted a hot shower, and a nap. Ignis was more than happy to give him some alone time. Heaven knows he deserved it.

 

When Ignis arrived at the address Aranea had sent—a rather nondescript apartment building on the east edge of town, the door was locked. He knocked, politely, and there was only a moment’s waiting before the dragoon dragged him inside. The door had barely swung shut behind him before Ignis was pinned up against a wall, Aranea’s full weight pressed against him as she outright kissed him, fiercely and desperately.

 

“Rough day?” Ignis managed as she fucking _bit_ down on his lower lip, dragged with her teeth until they both tasted blood.

 

“You have no fucking idea,” Aranea growled. She tangled her fingers in his shirt and wrenched him forward, tossing him onto the bed as if he weighed nothing. It was utterly fascinating, really. Aranea was the most intoxicating mix of soft and harsh. She was almost all pure muscle, shoulders that rippled when she moved, biceps that could probably crush a man’s skull. She kept some weight on her though, had wide, thick hips, large breasts, and the slightest jut of a stomach when she bent over, though Ignis had no doubt it was pure muscle underneath, could feel the ripple of her abs when he played his fingers over her belly. And yet when she moved, with purpose, it was like a fucking storm, like some ancient warrior of old reincarnated.

 

Ignis was rather content to ride the storm. He’d spent his whole life serving Noctis, playing the role of loyal advisor, remaining stoic and always knowing _everything._ Here was an entirely different space altogether. This was something different, and perhaps a little bit confusing, because none of it was logical. Nothing made sense, and Ignis fiercely appreciated it.

 

First, he carefully took off his glasses, folded them, and placed them on the table. Next, he unbuttoned his shirt and carefully discarded it. Then his pants, though first he pulled out the condom he’d carefully packed in his back pocket. He left the gloves on. Aranea liked them.

  
Aranea had been waiting for him, already mostly naked. Her armor had been long discarded, carefully placed on the desk in the corner of the room. She was wearing a long, black robe, and Ignis was very well aware that there was nothing underneath. It was tied loosely around that tiny waist of hers. Her hair was down, for once, cascading across her back in damp silver curls; she’d showered, while waiting for him. Her hips swayed, and her breasts peeked out from the robe’s low collar.

 

And, of course, she was still wearing a pair of knee-high black boots with a sharp stiletto heel. Ignis didn’t think he’d ever seen her without boots on. Somehow, he doubted he ever would.

 

“Everyone is an idiot,” Aranea declared, and the way she said it, with such conviction, would have convinced Ignis that her words were true, even if he hadn’t been quite inclined to agree with her to begin with. “This whole _week_ has been infuriating.”

 

“It has,” Ignis agreed, and he understood entirely, though their reasons were different enough. He was almost tempted to put his glasses back on, but he could see well enough, though it was just the faintest bit blurry.

 

Aranea let the robe fall to the floor in front of the bed. The old mattress dipped and groaned as she climbed onto it, crawled on her hands and knees over Ignis’s tall, lanky form. “I am going to abuse the hell out of you,” she laughed quietly, and her voice took on that specific tone, one that Ignis was relatively sure she reserved entirely for him. It was lusty, full of the most perfect danger he could imagine, and utterly full of _dominance._

“Abuse me then,” Ignis agreed, gave his consent, and then his head was yanked forward as Aranea kneeled over him and shoved his face between her folds. She was fucking wet already, her lips rubbing slick as she pressed down on Ignis’s face. She smelled heavenly, musky, with a hint of spice and of maple and something utterly intoxicating.

 

They had a safeword, and they had a nonverbal gesture, but Ignis had never found reason to use it. Even as Aranea gripped the headboard of the rickety old bed, even as the toes of her boots bore into Ignis’s sides, right under his ribs, hard enough to bruise, he was barely aware of it. He was aware of the feeling of Aranea’s cunt, sopping wet, rocking down on his mouth as he traced over her lips with his tongue, drank in the taste of her, and dipped inside of her. He was aware of the soft sounds she made as she pressed harder, as her clit bumped against his nose, hard and impossibly swollen already. She’d been worked up, the pressure building up into a sexual tension that had nearly threatened to explode from the moment he’d entered the room. Ignis wanted desperately to use his fingers, to split her apart and press his whole gloved fist into her, but she wasn’t in the mood for that, and he _knew better_ than to touch her without permission.

 

He was achingly hard already, and she hadn’t touched him, hadn’t done anything except fuck herself on his face, ride his tongue like there was no tomorrow.

 

Ignis could barely breathe, couldn’t get in more than a few quick gulps of air when Aranea rocked her hips back, before she was jutting forward again. His face was soaked, her lips outright dripping as she slid messily across his face, over his lips and cheeks and chin and nose.  He kept his tongue pressed into her now, fucking her that way. Normally, Aranea held out, would ride his face or his fingers until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, until he was cramped and near begging for her to just finish and get on his cock already. She was too worked up though, and it wasn’t long before she was wrenching a hand down, tangling it in his hair and pressing his face so tight into her wet folds that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but take in the scent of her, the wet messiness enveloping.

 

“That’s a good pet,” Aranea hissed as she rocked her hips, grinding down, mashing her swollen clit into his face. Ignis tangled a fist in the bedspreads beneath him, desperately caught a ragged breath here and there, and then he heard the familiar sharp intake of breath, the clenching around his tongue, the way her hips stilled, and Aranea came with a soft, triumphant cry, a new rush of mess gushing over him.

 

Aranea sat back, slowly, her thighs shaking and belly heaving as she settled on Ignis’s chest, sitting there and regarding him with silver eyes that slowly returned to focus.

 

“You’re a mess,” she said coolly, though her breath was still hitching in her throat. She liked it, Ignis knew. She got off even more on seeing his face flushed and covered in her wetness, on reducing him, normally so perfect and unfazed and stoic, into a toy for her pleasure. And Ignis was hard, painfully so, his cock jutting proud against his belly. He didn’t bother to deny that he loved it.

 

Aranea leaned to lick a string of her come from Ignis’s noise. She dragged her tongue over his lips, the closest thing to a kiss they’d probably reach during their play. She kissed him before, afterwards too, sometimes. But during the sex itself? Never. It was part of the unspoken rules.

  
“Satisfied?” Ignis asked. Sometimes, she warned him against talking. Sometimes, when he talked anyway, she’d retaliate by putting those fucking gloves of hers back on, spiked and armored, and she’d outright drag him over her lap and spank him over his ass and thighs until he was red and raw. Once when they’d done that he’d almost—almost—used a safe word. But she’d relented, satisfied, right when the word was on the edge of his tongue.

 

It seemed today, Aranea would allow the transgression, allow the brief exchange of words between them.

 

“Not particularly,” she regarded him coolly, settling back on his chest, straddling there again. Her presence was a nice, hot warmth. Her thighs were wet, and her folds still soaking as they rubbed against Ignis’s chest. Her weight made it a little difficult to breathe, but Ignis said nothing, enjoyed the pressure of her settled there. Aranea leaned back a little and lifted a leg, shifting so one booted foot was pressed against the pillow, right next to his head. She enjoyed the power play, the knowledge that she could easily run one of those sharp stilettos through his eye socket and fucking into his brain, if she so wanted.

 

Ignis had no doubt she could kill him. Even if he’d still doubted her integrity, though, he was convinced that he fucked her well enough that she’d let him live. He didn’t doubt her though. Aranea Highwind was nothing but sincere about who she was, and they didn’t talk about it much, but sometimes she said a few quiet words about the horrors of the empire, and he was convinced that deep down, they were on the same side, whatever that was.

 

“One of those days then,” Ignis agreed. Aranea laughed harshly, and she dipped a hand back to rest on his thigh. This position, she was practically sprawled over him, her hips angled up off his chest, thighs spread wide, back arched, breasts heaving as she breathed.

 

“What the fuck are you waiting for?”

 

Ignis took that as a sign that he was allowed to touch, and three fingers instantly found their way inside of her. She was so wet, dripping, sopping around him. Her lips clung to his fingers, and Ignis wasted absolutely no time. He was getting good at reading Aranea, and sometimes she wanted to draw it out. Not today. She hissed impatiently, angled her hips better, and only let out the first satisfied noise when he crooked his gloved fingers within her, angling over her g-spot and giving her the first taste of that white-hot pleasure she was seeking.

 

“That’s why I keep you around,” Aranea moaned, and when a fourth finger found its way inside, and his thumb circled over her clit, she really _did_ reward him with a moan, a rare one certainly, and the edge of a sharp heel dragged over his cheek.

 

When she came the first time, it was with a harsh cry and a new wave of warmth over his fingers. Ignis wanted to shove his whole fucking fist in her, again, but her clit was swollen and hard and overstimulated, and he drew the second orgasm out of her even as she gripped his thigh so hard it was bruised, bleeding from where her nails dug in. The third orgasm came when he gave in, when his thumb joined the other four and he pounded his fingers into her so hard it had to hurt, had to be stretching her open in painful ways, and she outright gushed all over his hand in a violent spray.

 

Ignis only stopped when Aranea forced his hand away, her thighs a quivering mess. She was soaked and spread open, trembling and wide and utterly oversensitive. “Enough,” and even after three fucking multiple orgasms, after squirting over his hand and chest, she still managed to keep the quiet power in her voice, to command him in such a way that he obeyed without question.

 

“Master,” Ignis didn’t often indulge in the title without being ordered to (and Aranea was not shy about ordering that of him, when the mood struck her), but it felt appropriate in the moment. He flexed his fingers. They were cramped. His gloves were a mess. They reeked of sex, needed to be cleaned desperately. Ignis would be concerned about it, but it wasn’t the first time that his favourite pair of gloves had endured such treatment.

 

Aranea shifted over him, and this time she adjusted so she was straddling his hips. Ignis had pushed aside his own desire, as he often did, but his cock was trapped between them now, rubbing over her sopping folds as she rocked her hips down.

 

“You like being my bitch far too much,” she said quietly, regarding him with a look that bordered on fascination. And really, Ignis did. There was something absolutely thrilling about giving up control to her. Aranea was possibly the only person in the world that Ignis considered his true equal, intellectually. She was fierce, and strong, and he felt _emotions_ about her that he didn’t want to consider. The sex was challenging, everything about Aranea Highwind was challenging. And Ignis enjoyed this, the fucking, whatever it was, far more than he should have, perhaps.

 

“I do keep coming back,” Ignis agreed, and it was the closest they’d get to any sort of affection. Aranea nodded at that, satisfied, and she leaned forward, reached on the bed next to them and found the condom. She lifted up just enough to get it on him, and then she was sinking down onto him, wet-hot and riding him just like she knew he liked. Because at this point, they were reaching a sort of familiarity, and it was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

 

“Shut up and fuck me,” Aranea growled, and Ignis agreed, couldn’t keep his eyes off her heaving breasts as she rode him, strong and fierce and passionate, until another orgasm wrenched through her as she rubbed her own clit and took him in deep and fast. Ignis saw white when he came, his ruined, gloved hand on her hip, squeezing hard enough to leave fingerprint shaped bruises. Aranea’s own hand was wrapped around his throat in an expert grip, crushing his windpipe shut, and making his mind a hazy, far-off place where he couldn’t breathe.

 

Ignis was still trying to remember how to breathe, how to think, when Aranea rolled off him. She stood, and she fetched a glass of water and a book. Then she crawled back onto the bed next to him. They didn’t cuddle, that was an unspoken agreement to the two of them. But she did press a little closer than she would otherwise, stretching out across the bed, all hips and belly and heaving breasts and curves.

 

When Ignis was coming down from it, from being utterly used, his throat raw where she’d choked him, his fingers cramped and sore, his whole body covered in her release, he appreciated the closeness. Aranea sprawled next to him, and she handed him the book she’d fetched.  

 

“Read,” she instructed, as she always did, and Ignis opened the book and began reading the first passage to her, aloud. There was something calming in it, something that eased the rush of endorphins as he came down from the highs of sex. And, just maybe, she wasn’t merely indulging him. Ignis liked to think that Aranea took simple pleasure from it too.

 

\----

 

They’d finally made it to Altissia, and everything had gone horribly wrong.

 

Ignis had a moment of pride when Noctis successfully negotiated the Leviathan ordeal. He’d spent his entire life preparing the new king for his role, and even though Noctis had the political intrigue of a sack of potatoes, he’d somehow made a good impression.

 

That was about the only satisfaction he found, though. The city was destroyed. Noctis was still in a coma. Luna had been stabbed, her body nearly washed away, but she’d somehow ended up on the edge of a pile of debris, Umbra guarding over her, of all the creatures. It was an impossibly lucky fate.

 

And Ignis. Well.

 

He’d been bedridden for a few days. Luna came and sat by his side. She sounded pale, worn thin, injured in such a way it should’ve been a mortal wound, he was told. She’d taken his hands, traced it over her abdomen so he could feel the wound there. It’d been stitched back together but it felt sore, aching.

 

Still, Lady Lunafreya was kind, was everything Ignis remembered her to be, from their brief meeting when he’d gone to see Noctis, during his time in Tenebrae. She put her own hurt aside, and she’d channeled her powers, her healing magic of the Oracle, and pressed her hands over his unseeing eyes.

 

“It may be beyond me,” she admitted quietly, after. Ignis’s world was still black. The one eye, they’d told him, his left one, was ruined. There was heavy scarring, and it was a miracle in itself that they hadn’t had to actually remove the eye. Still, it was useless to him.

 

His right eye, though, the doctors still weren’t hopeful, but Luna had seen fit to at least try. Ignis was quick to accept his reality, though it was perhaps the cruelest thing that could happen to him. He’d prided himself in his ability to see the world crystal clear. What was he now? He didn’t hold any optimism that he’d see again. He knew he’d simply have to relearn how the world worked.

 

\---

 

For a while, Ignis had felt utterly useless. He tried, of course, but it had been quite a blow to his self-esteem, reduced to walking with a cane, tripping over everything. Noctis was guilt-ridden over the whole thing. He’d let Luna get injured, let Ignis be blinded, after all. Prompto was practically clinging to Ignis, and he appreciated the help, but it was certainly not doing his ego any favours.

 

Aranea had sent him a few messages, and Ignis had ignored them. He was grateful, at the very least, for the assisted text option on his phone that played them audibly and let him dictate responses. Still, Ignis couldn’t quite find the heart to respond. His play with Aranea had been entirely based on their dynamic, the power struggle, and it just wasn’t something Ignis wanted to deal with. He wanted so desperately to be treated _normally_ and he didn’t think he could handle the rejection.

 

Noctis had insisted that they chase Ardyn down and get their revenge. The chancellor had fled when his assassination attempt on Luna had failed.

 

They were on their way to Gralea when they encountered Aranea again, in the ruins of Tenebrae.

 

Ignis was losing hope that he’d ever recover any of his vision. He could sense light out of his right eye, though. Sometimes, he could almost make out blurry, fuzzy shapes or the hint of colour. But most of it was vague, useless, and only enough to trip him up, to remind him that he’d truly never be the same again. Ignis would have preferred the blackness, because then he could abandon all of that awful _hope_ that made it so hard to heal and move on.

 

“Iggy lost his vision in the Leviathan attack,” Noctis had told Aranea quietly, but Ignis heard it. The only benefit of all this was that his other senses were quickly heightening—adapting, sharpening to make up for the loss of sight. He could hear things, sense things, that previously would have been lost on even Ignis’s sharp mind.

 

“That’s a damn shame,” Aranea sighed, and Ignis thought just maybe he could hear _something_ in the words. Understanding? He’d been avoiding her after all. Empathy? Maybe that was it. But he could’ve sworn there was something else there too, something that he couldn’t place words or thoughts to.

 

Ignis had decided he wouldn’t avoid her, nor would he seek her out. Noctis had wanted to get some rest though, before they pressed on. And inevitably, Ignis found himself holed up in one of the old, ruined buildings where Aranea had set up camp.

 

“You’ve been ignoring me.”  


The words weren’t a question—nor were they necessarily a threat. They were a statement, hanging in the air between them, and there was a coldness to them. Typical Aranea.

 

“I have been,” Ignis admitted, because there was no way he could deny it, no plausible excuse he could come up with. He was blind, not dead, and he was well aware that she’d texted him. He had wanted to see her, of course. He wouldn’t voice it. But things were _different_ now.

 

Ignis wanted to see her, but he could imagine her so clearly in his mind, it was nearly the same thing. He was seated on the little cot she’d set up. Barely more than a mattress, thin and hard and rickety. She was standing before him. He could sense her dominating presence. She was still in her armor, he could hear it moving as she walked over. She would have one hand on her hip, back arched, watching him from half-lidded eyes. Probably a scowl on that gorgeous face of hers.

 

“Why?”

 

He hadn’t expected the question, nor did he expect to hear the dull thud of Aranea’s armor falling to the floor at her side. Ignis had expected it was all but over between them, and here she was, nearly in a warzone, her soldiers outside. Hell, his companions, his king, outside. And Aranea Highwind was letting herself go in front of him, a blind, crippled man.

 

“I don’t pity myself,” Ignis said quickly. “I’ll adapt. But you must admit, I lose a certain amount of appeal with… _this,_ ” and he gestured at his face. He’d taken to wearing sunglasses, to block out the sensation of light that irritated his right eye and tripped up his mind. And to hide the newly formed scars, thick and red and angry over his face.

 

Aranea didn’t say anything, but Ignis inhaled sharply when he felt her fingers—without the gloves, for once, trace over his cheek. She removed the glasses, and Ignis almost opened his mouth to stop her. But she pressed her index finger to his lips and instead he drew her finger into his mouth, let his tongue roll over the pad of her long, calloused digit, suggestive and warm and maybe a little bit _needy._

 

“You’re changed,” Aranea agreed quietly, but she moved to straddle him all the same. She pulled her hand away from his face, pressed it square to his chest and shoved him down on the bed. “You’re not broken. You’re not any less _desirable_ ,” and Ignis noted that it was really the first time she’d ever admitted that she desired him, wanted him, that it might be more than just pure fucking at play here.

 

“You’re right,” Ignis agreed, and there was a certain new thrill as Aranea loomed over him. She’d tied him up more than once, had blindfolded him a couple of times, and perhaps he could think of it that way. It added another level of _danger,_ of her wild, violent appeal. And it seemed Aranea still wanted him, and she was eager to prove that as she used him and violated him, at the edge of the world, so far from home, and so out of their element.

 

Afterward, Aranea pressed just a little bit closer than usual. She let a hand play idly over his stomach. And this time, she pulled a book out, and she was the one to open its dusty pages and read aloud to _him._

 

“Will you ever get your eyesight back?” Aranea asked idly. She’d permitted Ignis to rest his head on her shoulder as she read. It was a silly story, some ridiculous romantic fantasy aimed toward young women, but Ignis missed _reading,_ he missed it something fucking fierce, maybe almost more than actually being able to see the world around him, and he hadn’t worked up the resolve to ask Gladio to read those awful books of his to him yet.

 

“Unlikely,” Ignis replied quietly, because there was no sugarcoating it. “I can sense light in one eye. Sometimes colour. Lunafreya tried to heal it, but I haven’t seen any real improvement.”

 

“You’re strong,” the acknowledgement came as a surprise, and for a brief moment, Ignis wanted desperately to _kiss_ the woman. He didn’t, but he smiled faintly, pressed his forehead into her shoulder in just a quiet moment of thanks. “You’ll adjust to this.”

 

“I will,” Ignis agreed. He stopped ignoring Aranea’s messages after that.

\---

 

It took a fair amount of time, but eventually Ignis did recover some of the use of the one eye. It was blurry and a bit unreliable. His vision was blurred around the edges, in such a way that glasses would never be able to correct. He could see decently enough up close though, and the most fucking relieving, satisfying feeling in the world was opening a book and making out the words once more.

 

It was enough. It would do. Though, surprisingly, he’d found that he had adjusted to the loss of vision, more than he’d expected he would.

 

They’d chased Ardyn to the end of the world, and then all the way back to Insomnia, after Noctis had earned the blessings of the astrals. They’d won, but Ardyn faded away, with the promise that he’d return, that Noct hadn’t been the chosen king after all, that it was all a lie. Ignis couldn’t help but feel relief, because that title had meant something heavy, a burden he’d hoped desperately that his charge, his king, and his dear friend, wouldn’t have to carry. It was incredibly selfish, hinted that some day, when they were long gone from the earth, the challenge would rise again, and some other group of friends, a future king and his companions, would have to walk their path.

 

Ignis instead focused on the little things, because they had fulfilled their duties. He allowed himself some moments of rest, some respite from the stresses of newfound responsibilities. Noctis was King now, and he was slowly growing into a decent one: reliable, strong, kind, everything that Ignis had hoped he would be. He had some way to go still, of course, but he was well on the way. Slowly, Ignis and Gladio had realized that they’d done a damn good job. Even as Noctis began relying on them a little less, relied a little more on Luna, and a lot more still on Prompto. The three of them had come to an arrangement of sorts, it seemed, and Ignis didn’t quite understand it, but he was extremely happy for them. And though life was hectic, stressful, insanely so—they had an entire city of ruin and rubble to rebuild—they were making progress.

 

At the moment, Ignis was relieving the newfound stresses by letting Aranea Highwind fuck him with a ridiculous, oversized strap-on in his private quarters in the heart of Insomnia.

 

The citadel had remained largely intact after the attacks, as had most of the surrounding buildings. Luckily enough for him, Aranea Highwind had become a near-constant in their lives. She had willingly joined Noct’s cause, as much as was in her nature. Ultimately, Aranea served one person: herself. Her values aligned with theirs enough that it didn’t matter, and she was around more often than not, helping them in whatever way she could.

 

Ignis was grateful, because it meant they could be seen together without rousing suspicion. He valued their time, more and more—and valued keeping quiet about it just as much.

 

He didn’t bother to keep quiet this time, though. They didn’t do it this way often _enough._ He was on his knees, ass in the air, face pressed in the pillow. She’d tied his fucking hands together, hard enough that the restraints cut into his wrists and restricted his circulation in an awkward, tingling sensation. Ignis loved it, of course.

 

“You’ve needed this, slut,” Aranea’s voice was a low growl as she leaned over him, one hand tangled in his hair and pressing his face to the mattress. Ignis gave her the satisfaction of a muffled gasp against the bedspread, and he managed to shift his legs apart a little more, drawing her deeper. He _had_ needed it.

 

Aranea’s breasts bounced against his back, nipples erect, she was pressed so close. She’d learned how to fuck him properly, the toy curved to hit his prostate, slippery with a generous amount of lubricant, and she’d damn near gone in raw, unprepared. It hurt like hell, but it was so fucking good when she angled just right, when everything else faded and there was just that intense explosion of pleasure. He was spread far too wide, and she was rough, pulling out until just the thick, rounded head of the toy stretched him open, then slammed back in until she bottomed out, her pelvis flush against Ignis’s ass.

 

Aranea enjoyed it too, more than just from the power rush it gave her to be on top, to spread him open just as he spread her open, when she allowed it. The toy rubbed against her clit as she thrust, and Ignis could hear her gasps at the rough friction. He needed to get her one of those proper double-ended ones, so she could fuck herself while she destroyed him. Ignis made a mental note to remember that later—because currently, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, his cock hard and heavy, dripping on the blankets, utterly ruining the bed, his ass spread open and wide.

 

Ignis came with an absolutely _undignified,_ uncharacteristic yelp. She hadn’t even needed to touch his cock, but he was gone, releasing over his belly and dripping down onto the bed. Aranea wrenched free, tossed the toy aside, rolled onto the bed next to him, and tugged Ignis’s face between her legs. He dove into her wet folds eagerly, sucked at her swollen clit until she came as well, hands tangled in his hair and holding him close through her orgasm, through rolling hips and trembling, booted thighs that wrapped around his neck, squeezing tight and threatening to fucking snap his spine in two.

 

“I did need that,” Ignis said quietly when she released him, when they both were coming down from the rush of sex and endorphins. She untied his hands, and Ignis flexed his fingers to get the circulation flowing. She handed him the book that he’d left out by his bed, quietly, the unspoken tradition that had become their routine, and Ignis was starting to suspect the aftercare was important to her, too, perhaps just as much as it was for him.

 

It was a terribly dull book, honestly, a lot of drabbling on about engineering, architectural integrity, and so on. Even by Ignis’s standards, it was boring to all hell. He was reading it merely because the act of rebuilding a city was such an arduous process, with so many people involved, and Ignis was the one who was expected to know everything, to oversee it all, to hire laborers and contractors and understand what needed to be done. And as such, his idle reading time was replaced with poring over tedious books about the subjects he needed to understand better. Ignis couldn’t read as fast as he used to. His one eye still wasn’t the best, and it was straining if he stared at the pages too long, or tried to read as fast as his brain was used to. His good eye just couldn’t keep up. But he managed.

 

Aranea tolerated it for a while, until they’d both stopped trembling, until their breathing calmed.

 

“I’ve been meaning to mention something,” she said idly, reaching to take the book from his hands and place it aside. She set it down open, spine-up, bending in such a way that Ignis reached over her to correct it; he couldn’t bear to see a book treated such a way. Aranea watched him with amusement, and she laughed, soft and still dark with lust, but relaxed and open, in such a way that Ignis felt like they were sharing an intimate moment.

 

Still, he was curious. Aranea rarely discussed anything serious, any real business, when they were together like this. “What’s on your mind?” Ignis tipped his head, settled down on the bed again on his side, next to her sprawled body.

 

Aranea said nothing. She fixed him with a cool, leveled look though, and pointedly reached for Ignis’s hand. He frowned as their fingers laced together—it was a near intimate gesture, so unlike what they normally did. Ignis didn’t know what to make of it. His mind, logical and intelligent as it was, seemed to get muddled when that maddening woman was involved.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re getting shy on me now,” Aranea laughed, noticing the hesitation. She dragged Ignis’s hand, placed it over her lower belly, just above her pelvis. She’d always carried that tiny bit of extra weight there, a soft curve over rock-hard abs.

 

Ignis frowned, but he ran his fingers idly over her stomach, felt the hard, firm curve there. She had put on a bit of weight; he wondered, just for the briefest moment, if Aranea was getting _self conscious_ on him. There was absolutely no way, though. Of all the people to need reassurance, to need some sort of reminder that she was the most fucking gorgeous woman on the planet, Aranea Highwind was last on that list.

 

“I don’t—“ Ignis started to say, but Aranea squeezed his fingers, her grip tight, harsh, just a little bit painful, and he shut up abruptly.

 

“Almost four months ago,” Aranea tipped her head, smiled vaguely. “After I returned from my last trip to Gralea.The condom broke. I told you not to worry about it, I’d take care of it,” she laughed quietly, her eyes burning bright and silver even through Ignis’s blurred vision. “I decided I’d let fate decide,” her gaze was fierce, her expression even fiercer. “Fate decided.”

 

For the third time in his life—indeed, the most remarkable one of all--Ignis was absolutely, completely, utterly rendered speechless. He opened his mouth, gaped at her, could do nothing but stare, his fingers working nervous circles over the small curve of her belly.

 

“You—“ Ignis said suddenly, well aware that the silence was creeping between them. He shut his mouth. Thought about it. Opened his mouth again. “I trusted you would ensure this didn’t happen,” and the words came out harsh, far worse than he’d intended them to sound. Aranea’s eyes flashed, she opened her mouth to speak, but Ignis cut her off. “Apologies,” he took a deep breath, and found his fingers curling possessively, touching the small spark of life that was apparently in there. “I merely assumed you had other priorities,” and those words weren’t much better. Ignis was flustered, confused, his heart was pounding in his chest and there was a sudden stress migraine coming on. Everything he did in life was planned, precise and methodically. Everything except Aranea Highwind. She was passion, she was chaos, and she was fucking _pregnant with his child._

“I’m not getting any younger,” Aranea pointed out, and she laughed again at his reaction, but it was a soft sound. She ran a perfectly manicured, sharply-nailed finger over Ignis’s hand, and he shivered at the touch. “I won’t hold you to any obligations,” she added, and there was a certain pointedness to the words. “I’ve been perfectly fine on my own for my whole life. I can handle this.”

 

“I know,” Ignis said quietly, and he did know. He could walk away from this, could turn and never look back, and she’d be discreet. She’d keep his secret, she’d raise her child on her own, balance it perfectly with her life as a mercenary, the life where she worked alongside King Noctis solely because she agreed with what he believed in. And she’d be fucking fantastic while she did it, ferocious, the envy and desire of all.

 

“You won’t leave though,” Aranea continued, and her voice was soft, and just for a moment, she dropped her guard—let her eyes burn into Ignis’s, still just as fierce, but with warmth, too.

 

“I do have a lot of parenting experience,” Ignis responded, “I’ve raised a king and his consort, after all.” And really, Noctis had a long way to go—Prompto even longer, still—but he’d done a good job.

 

“You will _not_ be spoiling my child,” Aranea’s voice was firm, fierce, but she was smiling, and Ignis took that as an admission that she’d wanted that answer out of him. And really, she wouldn’t have told him if she didn’t want him to stay. She wouldn’t have spoken a word of it, and when she’d started to really show, when he would’ve been forced to bring it up, she would have stayed quiet, vague, wouldn’t have broached the subject at all.

 

“A question, if I might,” Ignis was feeling bold. They’d never felt the need to talk about what they had. It was something that merely existed, first out of convenience, then out of familiarity. This was a new development though, something pressing, and something that Ignis couldn’t ignore. “What does this make us?”

 

“What we’ve always been,” Aranea responded with a laugh, and she leaned down, pressed a rough kiss to Ignis’s lips, more teeth and tongue than gentle affection, but that was just pure Aranea. And really, hadn’t it been this way for a while now?

 

\----

 

When the news came out, Gladio outright burst out laughing.

 

“No fuckin’ way, Iggy,” he choked out, and then dissolved into another fit of laughter. “You ‘n Highwind? _Really?”_

“Really,” Ignis kept his voice steady, unreadable, masked. As calm and coherent outwardly as he wished he was, inwardly. There’d been no point in dancing around the subject, in hiding it. Aranea was beginning to show, and it didn’t keep her from wearing that skimpy, ridiculous armor she enjoyed strutting around in. Word had spread fast, and Ignis’s idea of damage control was to simply own it. So, before the rumours of the father’s identity started spreading, he outright admitted it, acknowledged it. And really, all things considered, his friends took the news better than expected.

 

“Fuckin hell, I always assumed I’d be the one to accidentally knock someone up first,” Gladio admitted, and he was still laughing. Really, Ignis had half-expected that as well. Gladio’s only long-term relationship was with his duty as Noct’s shield, but he had his share of one-night stands. Sometimes, Gladio even kept girlfriends around for a little while. Ultimately though, he didn’t commit, was too focused on honor and obligation. When Noctis had an heir, he’d settle down, or at least plant his seed somewhere. But in the meantime, Ignis had a feeling that as careful as Gladio was, he wouldn’t for a moment deny a bastard child. He was too damn honorable.

 

“I would not call it an accident,” Ignis tried to protest, but he was waved away with another laugh, and really, on Ignis’s end, it had been a total accident. Aranea had apparently just had different plans. And, as it was with her, when she wanted something, she took it, without question, no hesitation.

 

\----

 

Prompto, on the other hand, stared with wide eyes, his cheeks bright red and wild.

 

“Aranea?!” and really, Prompto had that marvelous ability to worship the ground every woman he met stood on. He worshipped the ground King Noctis stood on, too, but that was a little different. “Wow, Iggy, she’s _terrifying._ I bet she’s a freak in bed.”

 

Noctis shot Prompto a harsh glare, as if the mere thought of Aranea Highwind in bed was offensive to him. A jealous streak, perhaps? “You couldn’t handle her, Prom.”

 

“Bet I could,” Prompto chirped back, and he was far too happy to sling an arm around Noct’s shoulders, casual and affectionate and so very _open_ about it all. Ignis was still wrapping his mind around the openness of their situation, after so many years of keeping it quiet, behind closed doors and fumbling nights in the darkness of their tent. Of course, they’d been absolutely dreadful at keeping it secret, but at least they’d tried.

 

“You couldn’t,” Luna added, and she laughed softly when Prompto turned to glare at her, in turn.

 

“Why is the whole world against me?!” Prompto groaned, before he realized why they were all here in the first place, and then he turned back to Ignis, the wide-eyed surprise back on his face. “Really Iggy, we all assumed Gladio would be the one to get a girl pregnant first!”

 

Apparently they’d all shared _that_ particular thought.

 

“Guess that means you’re next, Noct,” Prompto added, and this time, the look Noctis gave him was nothing short of a death stare. “Oh don’t look at me that way. I _love_ babies!”

 

All things considered, Ignis decided, it could have gone so much worse.

 

\----

 

“Tell her to get some fuckin’ bedrest, Iggy,” Gladio groaned as he paced back and forth through Ignis’s study. “She looks like she’s gonna go into labour any damn moment.”

 

He was referring, of course, to the heavily pregnant Aranea Highwind, who had recently taken it upon herself to accept a mission to destroy a goddamn herd of wild coeurls that had been terrorizing travelers near Hammerhead. They didn’t often venture that far east, but there’d been a steady stream of people heading to Insomnia, now that the city was on its way to restoration, and they’d apparently been drawn in.

 

Aranea, of course, had returned, streaks of blood that wasn’t her own marring her pale skin, but otherwise totally untouched.

 

“She’s only seven months along, Gladio,” Ignis responded, and really, if anything, she’d only grown more vicious, more ferocious, in pregnancy. The sex was absolutely _wild—_ and sex with Aranea was always insane to begin with--and Ignis didn’t bother to hide the bruises anymore when she bit him, when she squeezed his neck tightly enough to leave marks. Neither of them made a secret of the time she spent in his quarters anymore, and it was becoming more and more frequent. Slowly, her wardrobe had started finding its way into Ignis’s closet, into his drawers, disrupting his perfect, colour-coordinated system. He’d pointed it out to her and she absolutely snarled and turned on him like a wild, cornered beast, screamed about _pregnancy hormones_ and ripping his still-beating heart out from his chest, and it’d ended in wild fucking right on the bedroom floor.

 

She’d been eating like a beast, like she was eating for an entire family of four instead of just a baby. Ignis had been mildly concerned, but the doctors assured them no, there was only one in there. And she’d been down to training nearly every day, ripping into Gladio about not working his men hard enough, about what they _should_ be doing, about the fact that he was trying to keep her from going on missions. She’d come back so angry she’d eat entire pints of ice cream right there in the kitchen, ranting angrily about stupid dumb men between spoonfuls, in rage-induced hunger.

 

“Exactly. She’s _seven months pregnant,_ ” Gladio growled, turning on his heel and slamming his fist down on Ignis’s desk so hard it shook and a stack of carefully piled paperwork slid off the edge, papers fluttering everywhere. “She should be getting _rest._ ”

 

“I think,” Ignis said, though his good eye twitched as he watched his dutifully organized papers scatter into disarray, “that women have been doing this for quite some time, Gladio. She likely knows what she’s doing.”

 

“Like hell she does,” Gladio was nearly yelling, and he realized it, made a rough, frustrated sound, and took a step back. “Sorry, Iggy,” he sighed, paced again, ran a hand through his long hair. “Aren’t you worried? That’s your kid in there. Can’t you talk to her?”

 

“I could,” Ignis sighed as well, standing to begin gathering the paperwork strewn across his office. He couldn’t sit still while there was mess, after all, had to work quickly to clean it up. Especially with the hell on two legs that was pregnant Aranea in his living space. She’d invaded nearly every other room of his home, and the office was still his space, to keep neat and tidy. “It’d be utterly useless. She’s a strong woman. She knows what she’s doing.”

 

Gladio just made a low, frustrated noise, but he didn’t protest, didn’t say anything, even if he still stalked around the room like a caged animal.

 

“I trust her,” Ignis added, and really, he truly did. Maybe he hadn’t even realized that he did until he spoke the words aloud, then and there.

 

\----

“It’s a girl,” Aranea told Ignis as she pressed the newborn baby to her breast, and her voice was strange. Tired beyond all belief, more exhausted than he’d ever heard her, and with such a barely-contained affection, it made Ignis’s heart want to burst.

 

“Of course it is,” he replied. They hadn’t known the sex, and in his mind, it had always been a girl. Was Aranea capable of anything else?

 

She’d been in labour for a while. Hours. She hadn’t taken anything for the pain—the midwife had offered her some, multiple times, and she’d outright refused it. Hell, Aranea had refused to go to a hospital, she’d even refused a goddamn _doctor._ It’d been hell to even convince her to allow the midwife in the room.  Ignis had had to work pure charm and infallible logic that they shouldn’t refuse services that were readily available just out of _pride._

And here they were. Sitting in his previously impeccable bathroom. Aranea was sprawled back against the edge of the tub. The water had once been clear, but it was red and murky, tinged with blood and afterbirth and fluid. It had sloshed over the edge of the tub in the throes of contractions and pushing, had made a mess of the previously clean tile floors, had soaked Ignis’s sleeves and shirt and pants. Ignis was grateful that he’d seen it all, really, on the road with his companions. Well, perhaps he’d never seen a live birth, but there’d been enough blood and gore that this was nothing.

  
The baby—their little girl—was red, still streaked with fluid, and Aranea had only let her out of her arms long enough for the midwife to check her over, to cut the cord that connected her and to let Ignis wrap a soft towel around the precious little life. He held her, stared down, full of wonder, amazement, at the tiny little thing they’d created.

 

She cried something fierce, and Ignis pressed her back into Aranea’s arms, watched as she took to a breast to feed for the first time. Aranea was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen, in that moment. She’d put on weight from the pregnancy, yes, breasts heavy and stomach distended from the baby that had been in there. But her eyes looked more alive than he’d ever seen.

 

“I lo—“ Ignis started to say, and he hadn’t even realized how badly he wanted to say it. But here, the emotions running absolutely wild in him, the exhaustion and stress and pain and goddamn happiness near overwhelming, he couldn’t hold it back.

 

“Don’t,” Aranea said softly. Her head was tilted down as she watched the child, and she hissed at the pain as she latched, but she stayed proud, held her there. Ignis realized, even through his blurred vision, that Aranea’s eyes were bright, and that she may very well have been crying. He pretended not to notice.

 

“I know,” Aranea continued. She shifted, lifted a hand, and tangled it with Ignis’s. “I’ve known for a while. I do too.”

 

\---

 

Ignis Scientia had always recalled the three times in his life he’d been rendered speechless.

 

This time, now, there was a _fourth_ , and it was the day Aranea Highwind gave him a daughter.


End file.
